138

I wrote this a while ago but it is one of my favourites. It brings people back to me who I miss very much.

138

Tucked away in an unassuming corner,
The last entrance on the right
Past the cupboard where the bogey man lives
The westerly door stands invitingly
I ring the bell and wait for its wooden arms to open
And pull me inside

‘Alright shorty!’ and a big hug are the standard greeting
I stoop for the hug, so pleased to accept it.
So delighted to be here again.

A haven of 70s geometrically patterned wallpaper
The swirly brown and orange vortex beneath our feet
The collection of miniature ornaments on the wall opposite the aunt’s place
(to whom visits were always announced)
A zoo of tiny creatures grazing on wooden shelves
All waiting to welcome me as I step inside

My mind casts back
To Christmases with bodies sleeping in every possible inch of space
Cousins on sofas in the living room
Us, in the single beds in the spare room, squeezed up with mum and dad

I remember
A beige, flowery 3 piece suite, at weekends accommodating far more bottoms than it was designed for.
Blanketed knees and a roaring fire in June

Divine Sunday dinners,
Kids seated at the table; the adults eat from trays on their laps.
Roast potatoes cooked in lard,
Runner beans sliced in the old green machine with the turn handle
that looked as if it belonged in a toolshed rather than any kitchen
Tinned peaches for pudding and evaporated milk or Sterilised thick cream
My favourite!
Or maybe that was the rice pudding – I never could decide.

After sunset, when the kids were sent to bed
The dining table would transform
Now a card table, the stakes were high
Stacks of gleaming coppers waiting to be claimed
by the owner of the best hand.

138 – A place where the scattered pieces of our jigsaw puzzle
Would refind themselves and fit back exactly as they should
In relaxed familiarity
And often hilarity
Or just plain conviviality.

I ponder who might live there now?
Is it just a residence, a roof over a head?
Or is it bursting at the seams with love
As when I last visited.

Published by Dullard poet

I have been writing mediocre poems since childhood. To me the process of writing is a release and the results, however mundane, give me a sense of pride. I am a busy teacher, mother (hockey mum), wife, pet owner as well as being a reader, sometime raver and a reasonable friend.

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